


kiss me on the mouth and set me free

by maharlika



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Thor (Marvel), Concubine Thor, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Protective Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharlika/pseuds/maharlika
Summary: Years ago, Thor gave himself up to Jotunheim in recompense for his mistakes.Years ago, Loki thought Thor dead.Now, Loki comes to Jotunheim to exact revenge upon those who killed his brother, only to find that Thor is not dead.No, Loki realizes. Thor is Thrym's whore.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel), Thor/Thrym (Marvel), Thor/Thrym is implied, Thorki is the main pairing
Comments: 19
Kudos: 150





	kiss me on the mouth and set me free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skornheim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skornheim/gifts).



> warning for implied noncon but it's not explicit
> 
> written for morgan!! who came up with this premise, way back at the start of the year. i finally got around to posting it!
> 
> i was spurred to post this because of hems showing his tits off on camera 😩 and i thought the fandom could use a lil bottom thor 😉 i have two more bottom thor fics in the works, so watch out!!

The first thing Loki really notices is the sound. Stepping into Utgard’s Great Hall, he’d readied himself to be met with Thrym—not to be barrelled almost to the ground by his long-dead brother. 

Nothing really registers past the rage and relief that makes the blood rush through his ears, but with Thor so close to him, Loki hears it: the tinkling of delicate chains, of jewels. His arms wrap around Thor automatically, touching cold metal against his skin. 

“Loki,” Thor is saying, wet and awestruck. 

Loki pulls back, just a little, just to see Thor’s face, and there’s that sound again, high and light, of Thor chiming. There are tiny bells sewn into his clothes, to announce his presence wherever he goes: he is meant to be seen, to be heard. To be displayed. His hair has grown long, strewn through with tiny diamonds, threads of gold as delicate as lace. 

His brother, Loki realizes, is in whore’s clothes. 

Before he can say anything, Thrym snaps his fingers.

In his arms, Thor flinches and goes rigid. With an apologetic glance, he shrugs off Loki’s embrace and goes back to Thrym’s side, ringing softly with every step. Kneels at his feet, body hunched over, like a dog. Worse than a dog, Loki thinks, because in Jotunheim hunting dogs are beloved. 

When Loki makes his challenge, he cannot help himself: his eyes slide to Thor, who does not move. He is still as ice. 

Thrym laughs, harsh and grating, like a glacier collapsing. 

“I welcome you, Odinson,” Thrym says, “as I welcome all sons of Odin to my hall.” He smiles. His teeth are sharp, dark as pine branches, and he pets Thor’s hair roughly. Thor chimes through the ministrations. 

Loki turns to leave the hall. As he crosses the threshold, he hears the sound of flesh striking flesh, Thrym backhanding his brother, hard. 

Thor whimpers, the sound of it loud in the cavernous hall. 

To himself, Loki vows: Thor will never make that sound again. 

—

Jotun flesh smells no different from Aesir flesh when it burns. 

Loki wrinkles his nose, turning from the smouldering, flaming mass of Thrym’s dead body to face the crowd. He raises his fist. Clenched within it is a piece of Thrym’s heart, wrenched from his chest by Loki’s hand. 

The Jotnar are angry, but they accept Loki as King. The ceremony is long and solemn, and by the end of it Loki’s head spins from the incense and the oils they used to anoint him. 

He stumbles back into his rooms—Thrym’s rooms, for now all of Thrym’s belongings are his. His wealth, his lands, his people. 

His whore.

Thor stands from the bed with fearful eyes as the door opens, but relief fills his visage when it is Loki who steps in. 

“He is dead,” Loki says. 

Thor weeps. 

Loki holds him as he does, stroking a hand through his hair and holding back the urge to kiss it. Thor smells sweet, a light perfume, not like the cloying oils that gleam on Loki’s skin. When he wipes his tears and pulls Loki further into the wide sea of the bed, Loki realizes why.

“I had hoped you would win,” Thor says, voice soft. He lays himself on the pillows, pulls Loki’s hand to rest on his chest. 

And if he didn’t, Loki thinks, then Thrym wouldn’t have minded the preparation. 

“I—” Loki chokes on his own tongue. Thor is so beautiful, his mouth tilted in a gentle smile, his skin soft after years of hard labor in Thrym’s bed. His legs splay, inviting, unselfconscious. 

Loki thinks of Thrym in his place, wet with Loki’s blood and pushing Loki’s brother down onto the bed, celebrating his victory between Thor’s legs. 

“I need to bathe,” Loki forces out, and tears himself away. Stumbles into the bathroom and hides himself in steam and water and does not surface for hours. 

When he returns, Thor is curled up on the edge of the bed. Loki knows he shouldn’t but he cannot help himself; he tucks himself behind Thor and noses at his hair. That scent again: delectable, like ripe fruit. Even just thinking it makes guilt curl sourly in Loki’s stomach. 

“Do you not want me?” Thor says, slurs through half-slumber.

_I want you too much_ , Loki thinks. 

“Not the way he did,” he says instead.

Thor sighs, gusty. 

“I know that,” he says, and Loki can think of nothing else to say. Doesn’t know if Thor thinks he meant, _I don’t want to fuck you_ or _I don’t want to treat you like a whore_. 

“ _Thor_ ,” he says, instead, helpless, and it is the first time his brother’s name has left his mouth in years. 

“ _Loki,_ ” Thor replies, like he feels the same way. 

They sleep, Loki and his brother, like they used to as children. 

—

Years ago, Thor gave himself up to Jotunheim to pay for his arrogance and foolishness. Years ago, Loki left Asgard to wander the worlds, learning and fighting and killing and growing powerful enough to kill two people: Thrym, for taking his brother, and Odin, for giving him up. 

Years ago, Loki thought Thor dead. 

Today, he watches his brother eat fish with his hands and wonders at the delicacy of his fingers. 

Thor eats quietly, efficiently, sliding thin, transparent bones out of his meal and placing them in a neat row along his plate. Loki wonders much he’s been fed, though he looks healthy enough. 

Thor has always been attractive. Not even Loki’s shame can keep his eyes from roaming, taking Thor in like a tired traveler finding glorious mountains rising from a bleak landscape. His blond hair, brushing past his shoulders, those familiar bright blue eyes. Tan skin gone pale, like he hasn’t been in the sun in a long while. Loki will fix that. 

“What do you wish to do today?” Loki asks. He takes a teacup the size of a bowl in his hands and sips delicately at its contents. The Jotnar may be savages but their tea is delicious. 

Thor blinks at him, wiping grease from the corner of his mouth. He starts to speak, then stops, smiling ruefully.

“I’ve been here for almost a decade,” he says, “but I’ve never been outside of the palace.”

“We are riding out,” Loki says. 

Kingship lost its shine without Thor to envy for the throne, but it has its perks now. His attendants spring to action at his order, and very soon he and Thor are at the stables, picking out their steed. The ice bears of Jotunheim are large enough to accommodate four people their size, but Loki insists on one for each of them. 

The Jotnar let them go, likely hoping that they will fall into some crevasse and leave their realm in peace, but Loki knows enough about Jotunheim that they do not lose their way. 

The closest village is to the west of Utgard, but they ride south, towards the mountain range. After an hour of hard riding, they find the peaks spiralling towards the sky, cradling the clouds. 

Thor huffs out a laugh, delighted. He has eyes only for the mountains.

And Loki has eyes only for his brother. 

Even in the weak sun of Jotunheim’s waning summer, Thor glitters. Gone are the jewels of his old station, and he is dressed in practical furs and leathers, but something about him shimmers. It is the way he sits, Loki thinks, a careless slouch instead of the stiff, staid posture of a prince. The way his hand flutters when he pushes hair away from his face. The curves of his cheeks and his mouth, burnished blush-pink by the cold wind.

That word comes to Loki’s mind again: delectable. He wants nothing more than to nudge his mount closer, until he is near enough to tug Thor’s lower lip between his fingers and feel that plump softness for himself. See if the pink is as sweet as it looks.

Instead, he reminds himself of Thrym, and Thor kneeling at his feet, and lets his mouth fill with a bitterness that he refuses to let Thor taste. His brother will have nothing but sweetness for the rest of his days. Loki will make sure of it.

—

The first time Thor tries to kiss him, it still catches Loki by surprise. They are walking back to Loki’s rooms after a feast—this, at least, is familiar to them, even if all other aspects of ruling are so different in Jotunheim—when Thor tugs on Loki’s hand from behind. 

He is smiling wide, loosened by wine and a night at Loki’s side, basking in his presence even as the Jotnar still call Thor _the King’s whore_. 

“What is it?” Loki says, wine-addled himself. They are at his rooms now—their rooms, as they refuse to sleep in separate quarters—and Loki is ineffectually trying to unlock the door with a gesture of his hand. 

“I have a gift for you,” Thor says, lilting, like a song.

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asks, because he is a fool.

“Mmhm,” Thor says, and sways closer, and Loki barely has the wherewithal to turn his face so that Thor’s mouth lands on his cheek. His lips are as soft as they look, Loki thinks, before shame surges through him. His hands twitch and the door opens, and Loki stumbles backwards inside. 

“Brother,” Thor says, and Loki cuts him off. 

“Stop,” he says, sharp. He will not be Thrym, he thinks to himself. He will not touch Thor like he belongs to him, no matter how badly he aches for it. 

Thor is silent, then, and Loki is too busy angrily stripping himself down for bed to realize what he has done. He goes into the bathing chamber and slides down into the scalding heat, and is too relieved that Thor has not joined him to wonder _why_ he has not.

It is only after his mind is clearer that he steps out of the bathing chambers and finds Thor, still standing where Loki left him.

“Thor?” Loki asks. 

Thor’s head goes up, a slow movement.

“Why are you—” Loki starts, fumbling. 

“You said stop,” Thor says, in a strange tone of voice.

Stop, Loki said, so Thor stopped. 

Loki feels utterly sick.

“You don’t—you don’t have to do that,” he says, but his voice is thin, close to breaking.

“I don’t understand,” Thor says, and there’s an edge of frustration in his voice that Loki hangs on to. 

“You don’t have to obey me,” Loki says, “you’re not my—you’re not. You’re my brother.”

“I tried to do what I wanted,” Thor says, “I tried to kiss you but you don’t want that. So I tried to obey you but you don’t want that either. What do you want, Loki?”

“I just want you,” Loki says, horrified at himself. Something with claws is tearing at his chest, and it’s hard to breathe. 

“You have me,” Thor says, and he sounds so miserable. “But you won’t take me.”

“I’m not him!” Loki shouts. “I’m not going to do that to you. I’m a monster, I know, but I’m not a monster like him.”

It’s not until Thor takes him into his arms that Loki realizes he’s trembling, his knees weak, his arms senseless. 

“You’re no monster at all,” Thor says. 

“I want you so badly it makes me feel like one,” Loki whispers. “Only a monster could be this greedy. This covetous. Every time I think of him—”

“Then stop thinking of him,” Thor says, stroking a hand down Loki’s neck, “and start thinking of me.”

“What do you…what do you want?” Loki asks. 

“I just want you,” Thor says simply, returning the words to Loki so easily. It feels like a gift, freely given, like the sky opening up to bless them with rain. Thor used to do that, too. Loki wonders if he still can. 

“And a kiss would be nice,” Thor says, after a moment.

Loki laughs, and it feels like a whirlwind leaving his chest. 

“Okay,” Loki says, but instead he reaches up to touch Thor’s lower lip, press it between his fingers. Peach-soft. The action makes Thor’s eyelids flutter shut. 

Loki follows the mark his fingers have laid and kisses his brother, finally.

—

“I’ve never,” Loki says, flushing as the words leave his mouth. In the years since leaving Asgard, Loki has had but one thing in his mind: revenge. There was no time, no room for desire. Now, there is nothing _but_ desire. He does not know what to do with it. 

Thor throws his shirt over his head and across the room. He saunters up to the bed where Loki has gingerly sat himself down and puts a hand on Loki’s chest. 

“I’ll make it good,” Thor says. 

Loki has no doubt about it, but he hadn’t realized just _how_ good it would be. 

“You’re amazing,” Thor says, kissing down the side of Loki’s neck. His lips are so soft, and somehow every touch has Loki tingling, writhing like he doesn’t know whether to arch into it, or away from it. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Loki carefully sidesteps his first thought ( _did anyone take care of Thor, in this?_ ) and chooses instead to gasp and squirm. 

“Thor,” he says, but it comes out as a whine instead. Thor removes himself from Loki’s neck for long enough to look at him. His gaze is unbearably soft. 

He looks so _happy_ that it makes Loki’s heart ache sharply. He suddenly needs Thor _closer_.

“ _Come here, please_ ,” Loki says, and if it sounds too plaintive then Thor deserves to know Loki that desires him enough to lose control like this. That he would rather beg than have Thor think his words are a command. 

They kiss, long and slow, and Thor is so pliant in Loki’s arms, so soft. He’s moving his body against Loki in gentle waves, rutting them together, and Loki doesn’t realize the heat building up between them until he accidentally bites down on Thor’s lip, hard, as their stiff cocks rub against each other.

“Sorry,” Loki gasps, pushing himself up on his elbows even as that scant separation brings with it a pang of loss. 

Thor pulls away, blinking slowly, confused. “Hmm?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Loki says, reaching out to thumb at Thor’s lower lip. The memory of Thrym rises out of Loki’s mind like a shadow, overbearing. 

“You didn’t,” Thor laughs, taking Loki’s palm and nuzzling into it. He’s so easy about it, like he truly wants this. “You’re so good to me, brother.”

“I want to be,” Loki says immediately, desperately. 

Thor laughs again, kissing Loki and murmuring, “I love you,” against his mouth. 

“I love you too,” Loki says, breathlessly. He feels overwhelmed suddenly, and his eyes are hot with tears. 

“Oh, Loki,” Thor says, wrapping his arms around Loki’s middle and hugging him tight. “You _saved_ me. You saved me, brother.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Loki says, promises. 

Thor looks up, and his eyes shine in the eventide gleam of the sun through the window.

“Will you fuck me?” Thor asks.

Loki’s mouth goes dry. He nods, unable to say anything else.

“Do you want to watch me get ready?” Thor asks, head lowered, shy, like a snowdrop.

“Yes, Gods, brother,” Loki moans. He can’t help himself, his whole body throbs with something he recognizes as _passion_ , even though he can’t have felt it before this night. Nothing he’s ever experienced has felt like this except the white-hot rage and sorrow of losing Thor. It’s only ever been for Thor, this breadth of emotion in Loki’s chest, jagged and raw to the touch.

Loki almost swallows his tongue as he watches Thor prepare himself, legs on either side of Loki’s hips, one hand beneath him and the other on Loki’s chest, holding himself steady. He can’t see what Thor is doing, but it must feel good: his brother’s chest gleams, his cock twitching against his stomach. He’s biting his lower lip, trying to keep his noises in, and that won’t do at all.

Loki sits up, noses at Thor’s chest, and takes one nipple into between his teeth, then laves at it with his tongue.

“ _Brother_ ,” Thor gasps, and Loki feels his whole body shudder. He reaches blindly for Thor’s cock, wrapping his hand around it and stroking, a pleased shiver running through him as Thor whines, high and loud.

“Enough, gods, Loki,” Thor groans, batting Loki away. He pushes Loki down onto the bed and smiles again, like he can’t help himself. 

Then Thor tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and Loki’s breath is caught in his throat, released only when Thor’s wet heat descends upon him. 

Thor throws his head back, both hands trembling on Loki’s chest now, and he rides Loki so _beautifully_. He’s _sensual_ , Loki’s brother, in a way Loki never fathomed Thor could be. 

_He’s had to be_ , some terrible part of Loki’s brain snaps, _in order to survive_.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Thor gasps, stroking Loki’s cheek, “stop thinking it. Be with me, brother. Here, right here.”

“Yes, gods, yes, Thor,” Loki gasps, as Thor leans down to kiss him, and he’s so good, his mouth and his hands and his ass, hot and tight, and it is almost unbearable, the pleasure. Suddenly, something in Loki is being drawn tight, tighter, and he is clinging to Thor, rutting mindlessly into his heat. 

“So good,” Thor is murmuring, “so good to me.” 

Loki whines, coming inside Thor’s ass, his mind going blank with pleasure.

“I wanted to last longer,” Loki grouses when he can talk, embarrassed but too breathless to really complain. 

“You will, next time,” Thor says, then takes himself in hand. Loki reaches down, to where his softening cock is slipping out of his brother, and hooks his fingers into the wet mess of Thor’s rim. Nudges two fingers in, amazed at how soft he is, how perfect, Loki’s wanton, gorgeous brother. 

“Ohhhh,” Thor moans, his expression blissful, his mouth open in a long sigh. 

Loki wriggles out from beneath Thor, and Thor quirks an eyebrow but allows Loki to push him down, to settle between his legs and lean down to mouth at Thor’s wet cock. 

“Oh Gods,” Thor whines, then reaches up to cover his mouth with his hands, muffling his cries behind them.

“I want to hear you,” Loki says, sitting up. “Please, Thor. Let me.”

Thor shakes his head, turning his face into the bed, and Loki _aches_.

“I—okay,” Thor mumbles. “I’m not—” he swallows, then tries again. “Not used to it,” he mumbles.

“To being loud?” Loki asks, feeling hollow.

“To feeling good,” Thor says.

“I should have killed him slower,” Loki growls, and Thor laughs, wet.

“What do you want?” Loki asks, helpless.

“Your mouth,” Thor says, “please.”

Loki nods, kissing Thor once more before shimmying himself down. 

He takes the head of Thor’s cock in his mouth and sucks experimentally, and Thor’s hips buck, his hands tightening in Loki’s hair. Loki closes his eyes and concentrates on suckling, bobbing his head little by little, until Thor gives one sharp gasp and tugs Loki off.

Thor comes so quietly, shaking apart in gentle quakes. Loki watches his hands dig into the furs, his toes curling. He wants to kiss every part of him, wants to reclaim every single patch of skin, to return to Thor every part of himself that he had to give away. 

In the end, all Loki can do is bite his lip and ask, “Was that good?”

Thor throws himself at Loki.

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s crying, and so is Loki. “Thank you. Thank you.”

—

There is much to be done. Loki has not forgotten his own quest to punish Odin for giving Thor up to Jotunheim so easily. But the days are easier, and for every night that Thor wakes up from a nightmare, there is a night when he falls into easy slumber in Loki’s arms. 

They ride out often, sharing a bear between them now, and sometimes Thor stands in the middle of a ring of empty snow and calls lightning to his hand, for the sheer joy of it. Electric and powerful, but with no desire or need to prove himself. Loki, too, feels the same contentment. 

The palace rings with Thor’s laughter, on good days. Their bed smells of Thor’s scent, his own and not some strange perfume. Each morning, Thor rises like the sun, growing more and more golden in Loki’s eyes. With each touch, they build something of their own, where they belong to each other as well as to themselves. Something that tastes of the sweetness of spring, that will keep in the long winter of this strange realm, until they can go home together.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated ❤️


End file.
